


Bad Habit

by PunishedPyotr



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cocaine, Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Forced Masturbation, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Liquid and Liquidmantis in the background, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Underage Sex, Russian diminutives, basically every awful Ocelmantis trope (that I invented)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: And anyway, Liquid hadn’t been around when all this got started, back at the KGB.‘All this’ referring, of course, to Mantis’ drinking problem.





	Bad Habit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hingabee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/gifts).



There were a lot of things Mantis didn’t tell Liquid about.

Not on _purpose_ , of course. He wasn’t going out of his way to _hide_ anything. It just didn’t come up in conversation; Liquid had never asked, Mantis wasn’t about to bring it up on his own.

If Liquid was mistakenly under the impression that there _was no_ half-hidden subject he’d never probed, then that was his fault, not Mantis’. He hadn’t _intentionally_ misled him, and who could blame him for not correcting him? True, it was literally impossible for Liquid to keep secrets from Mantis, and true, the man wholeheartedly assumed the reverse was true - or at least that Mantis was honorable and considerate enough to tell him everything important — but really, Mantis thought that privacy was important and it wasn’t weird, bad, or wrong to keep some things to oneself.

And anyway, Liquid hadn’t been around when all this got started, back at the KGB.

‘All this’ referring, of course, to Mantis’ drinking problem.

Liquid didn’t have a clue. He was aware, like the rest of FOXHOUND was, that there were stashes of vodka hidden around the base in places that Army brass wouldn’t check during the odd inspection. But he didn’t know that Mantis drank at all. The rest of FOXHOUND had him more figured out (Liquid could be rather oblivious) but no one was aware of the _extent_ of it. Or at least no one whose mind Mantis could read was aware, and those handful of people with psychic insulation (whether natural or cybernetic) had never brought it up to him.

But it was… pretty bad. Not as bad as he’d been as a teenager, of course. Mantis was humiliatingly aware that he was an alcoholic, but he was a _functional_ one by American standards. He’d been a functional one by _Russian_ standards back in the KGB, which more meant that he could make it through most of the workday before passing out across his desk and mysteriously waking up in his flat with an acid-sour taste in his mouth. He’d shaped up a bit at the FBI, then things got bad again after he was fired but once Liquid made it out of Iraq he’d cleaned up his act — even if that only meant cutting back on drinking enough that Liquid didn’t notice him doing it.

Vodka looked like water. Mantis had passed the smell off as disinfectant before. What happened while Liquid was sleeping was never any of his business.

“There’s really something pathetic about hiding in a dark kitchen at the three morning, drinking by yourself.”

Mantis leaned against the counter, looking blearily at Ocelot. Here was the _other_ little problem of his that had gotten started back at the KGB, even if Mantis had technically known him beforehand. And really, up until Liquid went missing and Mantis had a mental breakdown, things had be perfectly normal between them - perhaps Mantis had relied on him a bit too much, but he’d been young for that line of work, and things remained professional. For a while.

“You can drink with me if you like,” Mantis said.

“Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“It’s just static.” The fact that Mantis took off his mask to drink made it easier in a way to hide it; he didn’t like showing his face anyway. “It gets better when you are around, since you are just… silence.”

“Mm.” Ocelot reached past empty bottles to grab a full one, and took a glass, too, drinking his vodka like a civilized human being instead of swigging straight from the bottle like a certain reclusive psychic. “I keep catching you in here like this.”

“You say ‘catching’ like I am hiding something.”

“Aren’t you?” Ocelot said over the rim of his glass. He seemed to randomly appear about 40% of the time Mantis was drinking himself into a stupor at indecent hours (getting drunk enough to stay drunk the rest of the day, or for several days with his metabolism), but never indicated that he thought Mantis was drinking too much. Or directly indicated, at any rate.

“You know the boss doesn’t approve of this kind of thing.”

“That’s his problem. There’s no need to skulk around.”

Mantis put his face in his hands. “Ocelot, I’m not sober enough for this conversation.”

“I figured.”

The funny part was that Ocelot was the only one aware of Mantis’ _past_ here. It was a safe assumption that the reason why Mantis would always wake up in his own bed was that, in fact, Ocelot was making sure he made it back there. He never brought it up, never expected thanks - he probably had considered it just a part of his weird little “keep an eye on the Floating Boy (and by extension Eli)” plan that ended up going a little off the rails after Liquid got shot down over Iraq…

‘A little off the rails’ meaning, of course, that they had sex.

Even now Mantis didn’t remember it well. He’d been drunk at the time, naturally. Ocelot hadn’t stuck around until morning, leaving Mantis to put together the clues himself, and hadn’t been 100% sure that it had even happened (or necessarily happened with Ocelot) until the next time they banged while Mantis was sloshed out of his mind. Dozens of hazy half-remembered encounters formed a composite memory in Mantis’ mind, one of gripping red gloves forcing him to his knees in his flat, a cock being pushed into his mouth - Ocelot completely uncaring about the scrape of nylon stitches and awkward teeth - Mantis getting bent over a chair, or table, or sink or shoved to the floor (they never seemed to use the bed) and getting fucked with not nearly enough lube. He’d usually orgasmed three or four times before Ocelot did and could never stay awake afterwards. He’d continued the pattern of waking up in bed without consciously getting in bed.

“You seem preoccupied,” Ocelot commented, casually.

“Nn.”

This many years in retrospect he now understood that all of that… couldn’t really be considered his fault. He was only sixteen, seventeen… Ocelot was three times his age… Mantis had drowned his better judgement in vodka. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it rape, but he had certainly been taken advantage of. Repeatedly.

He’d surprised himself with the way he’d kept his mouth shut when Ocelot joined FOXHOUND. He’d been even more surprised at how comfortable he was around Ocelot - probably more comfortable now than he’d been at the KGB.

These thoughts were making him unconsciously lean towards the man, a slow topple that Ocelot caught him from with such a natural movement that Mantis didn’t even notice until he was leaning his head against Ocelot’s shoulder and felt his hand around his waist. Ocelot was looking directly forward, face neutral, taking another sip of vodka.

“What do you want?” Mantis murmured, his voice slightly slurred.

“I don’t want anything,” Ocelot said without missing a beat. “I was just wondering what you were doing up so late.”

“Drinking.”

“I gathered that. Any particular reason?”

“Hm?”

“Are you stressed?”

Mantis glanced up at him from under his eyelashes. “Do you care?”

Ocelot was silent for a moment. “Not particularly,” he said at length, putting down his glass with one hand and taking Mantis’ bottle from him with the other. “I do think you’ve had enough, though.”

“I am fine.”

“You’re drunk. How often are you getting drunk?” Oh, so he was finally broaching the subject after all.

“Less often than when I was a teenager,” Mantis said.

“That’s a low bar to clear, Bogomolechik.”

Mantis bared his teeth a little at the nickname, making a soft hiss. Ocelot had called him that freely and casually back at the KGB, but after Mantis had left Russia he’d respect his decision to abandon the name “Bogomol”. Except, of course, when they were alone. Not every time they were alone. Just sometimes. It held… significance.

“Don’t look at me so suspiciously,” Ocelot said.

“If you want to fuck, just say so.”

“I told you, I don’t want anything. Just heard you clinking around in the kitchen and came to investigate.”

Mantis put more of his meager weight on him. “Liar.”

“I’ve never told a lie in my life.”

“You’ve never told the truth either.”

“Haven’t I? …you’re getting awfully close.”

“You told me once you cared about me.”

“I never told you that,” Ocelot breathed, putting his free hand on Mantis’ shoulder. “You were just stupid enough to come to that conclusion yourself.”

Mantis could never really claim to be good at kissing. Most of that was because he so rarely took off the mask - now that he thought about it, he’d really only ever kissed Ocelot because somehow it had ended up being Ocelot who saw him without his mask most often. But kisses from Ocelot were marked with teeth and inevitably ended with Ocelot quickly overpowering Mantis, leaving him just an open mouth to intrude in. Mantis ended up with his back to the counter, pinned.

He pulled back just enough to break the kiss; Ocelot nipped at his lips as he left. Mantis let out a soft cackle. “Shame on you,” he said, “taking advantage of me.”

“You started this,” Ocelot said so plainly that Mantis believed he really did.

“I am drunk. You said so yourself.”

“I did six lines of cocaine fifteen minutes ago - I’m not sober either, Bogomolechik.”

“Hm? Is that what that is on your moustache, then?” Mantis grabbed Ocelot’s face, pulling him towards him again and licking up the remains of the coke. Vodka was always going to be his poison of choice, but even this trace amount gave him a nice buzz immediately though it did make his mouth go a bit numb.

Ocelot pushed him back. “You know better than to mix depressants and stimulants,” he said sternly.

“Certainly,” Mantis said, scraping his tongue over his teeth. “ _Papa_.”

“Careful now,” Ocelot murmured, grabbing his ass. Mantis would have recoiled normally but was too drunk (and mildly high) for it to even register with him. “I just might make you keep calling me that.”

“Why do I get all the men with daddy issues?”

“You’re one to talk, you killed your own father.” He bit Mantis’ ear, then whispered in it: “Unless, of course, you ever decide to believe me that I stopped by your ratty village a convenient nine months before you were born.”

Mantis twitched. “Completely ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Think about it. That’d make you the grandson of a spirit medium — perhaps that’s where you got your powers from.”

“Stop it.”

“Your mother looked _just_ like you.”

“I said stop!” He gave Ocelot a psychic shove back, but it really only moved him enough to make them let go of each other. Even the tiny amount of focus required for that normally was entirely beyond Mantis right now. “Stop bringing that up, we both know that is just- you trying to get under my skin.”

Ocelot was at him again. “But I have so many _other_ ways of getting under your skin, Bogomolechik.”

“Ah… don’t call me that.”

Ocelot lazily smirked and kissed him again.

Mantis tried to match Ocelot’s handsiness, but he was far less coordinated and just ended up running his fingers through Ocelot’s nice long hair - until Ocelot finally took hold of his shoulders and hooked one leg around Mantis’ to kick the back of his knees, hard enough to sting, _more_ than hard enough to make them give out under him. Ocelot’s hands on his shoulders at least made his fall to the floor slightly controlled, but even if he’d fucked up a kneecap or two Mantis probably wouldn’t have noticed in this state.

“I think,” Ocelot said, grinning nastily, “that you should try to please your papa for once in your sorry life.”

“Fuck you,” Mantis slurred, unzipping Ocelot’s pants.

“Are you going to be alright down there? I could spare a little more coke for you.”

“Weren’t you just scolding me for mixing cocaine and vodka?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmph.” Ocelot was passably hard, which vaguely surprised Mantis even though he’d felt it jutting into his body only moments ago. “I do not think I need my mouth and throat to be numb for this.”

“Famous last words,” Ocelot crowed.

“I am not the one who is probably going to die of a heart attack tonight,” Mantis said, then added, “old man,” to make sure his point got across.

“Now, now,” Ocelot said, warm leather glove on Mantis’ scalp, “that’s no way to speak to your father.”

“Nngh.” Despite himself Mantis shut up, leaning forward to press his dry lips and stitches and all against Ocelot’s cock. If he were sober he never would have done this, or at least acted like he hated it. But he didn’t. He liked the warmth and weight and saltiness in his mouth and he liked the way he could command Ocelot’s attention by doing this. The attention he got bordered on positive, even.

“There you go,” Ocelot said, patting the top of Mantis’ head. “Don’t forget to use your hands, Bogomolechik.”

“Mn…” Mantis did as instructed, using his hands to touch the parts of Ocelot’s dick that his mouth didn’t cover. He did his best to keep looking up at Ocelot’s face while he did it, though his vision was kind of blurred. He felt so hazy and faraway, his skull filled with cotton, his head light and eyelids heavy. If it weren’t for the painful pull on his stitches as he stretched his lips, Mantis might have drifted off to his own little world entirely.

He left Ocelot’s hand move to the back of his neck— and squeeze until Mantis had to gasp in pain, opening his mouth further, far enough for Ocelot to thrust forward and shove his cock down his throat. Mantis gagged, hitting Ocelot’s hip with his fist, but was ignored and forced to simply take it.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you can’t do this, kurva,” Ocelot said. Mantis choked around his dick, mostly at being called _kurva_.

Resentfully Mantis resigned himself to getting throatfucked, and relaxed again. He didn’t consciously remember most of the times he’d sucked Ocelot’s dick but his body certainly did, letting him get a few (restricted) breaths through his nose instead and keeping bile from rising in spite of his gag reflex. Again Ocelot pet the top of his head.

He sighed. “You really should grow your hair out again,” he said. “I remember how much I used to enjoy pulling it.”

Mantis bit down just hard enough that Ocelot smacked him. He fantasized about biting it clean off…

But even if Ocelot was inevitably rough with him, Mantis preferred the reactions he got when he did a good job of pleasuring him. And this way it was easier to track how close Ocelot was getting to orgasm — when he was approaching the edge, he seemed to let down his guard the tiniest bit, or so Mantis liked to think. He wanted to believe he got to see a glimpse of the _real_ Ocelot, whoever that was, the one behind all the lies and bullshit and drugs and hypnosis. And he wanted to believe that, no matter how many other people Ocelot had slept with, Mantis was the only one able to pick up on that hint.

Letting the cock slide out of his mouth, kissing the tip, pushing it back in, Mantis kept his gaze focused on Ocelot’s face as near as he could focus it. He vaguely recalled that he apparently used to hate Ocelot watching him work on his dick, but almost… relished it in a weird way now, as an adult.

“Ha-—“

Mantis recognized the change in breathing that meant he was about done here; he pulled back again, catching his breath and using his hands to finish Ocelot off. Ocelot gripped his head so hard he probably left a red palm-mark on his scalp. Mantis caught his seed all over face, and licked it up performatively, though in his drunkenness he probably _thought_ it looked a lot sexier than it actually did.

“Good boy,” Ocelot panted, pulling Mantis back to his feet by his chin. Mantis couldn’t balance and pressed him against him - Ocelot kissed his face, cleaning up whatever semen he didn’t get. “Haven’t lost your touch — or can you only do this when drunk?”

“Shut up,” Mantis moaned. He had a wicked hard-on that he hadn’t been able to do much about that he was now able to rub up against Ocelot’s stomach. “Ocelot…”

“Do you need something, Bogomolechik?”

“Stop- calling me that—“

Ocelot slipped a hand down between them, rubbing Mantis’ still-clothed crotch. Mantis whimpered and tensed, close to the brink but unable to really get over it.

“You want me to take care of this for you, don’t you? How lazy.”

“Shut up…!”

He took Mantis’ hand and lead it down to his groin. “You should just deal with it yourself.”

“Gh…” He squeezed his hand a little, trembling. “Do not… make me do this.”

“If you’d rather I send you back to the boss like this,” Ocelot nudged his erection, “then I will. I’m sure he won’t have _any_ questions, hm?”

“…” Slowly Mantis started to rub himself through his pants, his face red. Being watched while sucking dick was one thing, being watched while touching himself was another thing entirely. He averted his eyes away from Ocelot, but could still feel his icy gaze burning into him. “Oce…lot…”

“Hm?”

“I…”

“I’m right here,” Ocelot said, unexpectedly gentle. He and Mantis were still close, physically; to Mantis, who was always cold due to his weight, Ocelot’s body heat was downright wonderful. Mantis didn’t know if he was going to orgasm or fall asleep first.

…in the end he couldn’t tell which. His climax became a vague pleasurable sensation and Ocelot let him put his full weight on him, just barely keeping himself on his feet only because Ocelot had wrapped his arms around him. Very, very distantly Mantis was aware that the front of his pants were wet and the inside was sticky and uncomfortable.

“You’ve definitely had too much,” Ocelot murmured. “Come on, let’s get you back to your quarters without Liquid noticing.”

In the end they could only manage that by stealing a change of clothes from FOXHOUND’s laundry room and Mantis having to stumble by himself the last few feet to the quarters he shared with Liquid. He glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door. Ocelot had disappeared - hopefully he’d put the vodka in the kitchen away and get rid of the empty bottles, which Mantis was only now realizing he’d forgotten to do.

“Hm?” Liquid half-woke up when Mantis slumped into bed next to him. “Where were you…?”

“I was thirsty… getting a drink.”

“Ah. Mm…” Liquid was incredibly clingy, moreso when he was tired, but seemed too drowsy to notice the smell of sex on Mantis no matter how close he got. “Thank you for coming back…”

“…of course, boss.”


End file.
